The Devil's History
by pmgiff
Summary: Cruella reflects on her childhood one evening while partaking in her favorite beverage. Some saw it as horrific, but to Cruella, it's simply who she was, and to some extent, still is. [Authella/Family]


**{trigger alert: contains violence & mentions of childhood abuse. However, nothing graphic.}**

 _ *** This story takes place in the same universe as "Loving the Devil" and "A Family With A Great Story" by LadyPalma, with her permission.***_

One evening, after a particularly nasty argument with her husband, Cruella sat on the couch with her trusty bottle of gin and proceeded to drink her thoughts away. The children were out for the evening with their friends and Isaac had stormed out of the house when the argument had turned particularly nasty and cruel. It was not easy fighting with the devil. Even after all these years together, she could still say words that cut to the bone and leave deep scars. Such was her nature. He knew this. She may have found love and some semblance of happiness with her husband and children, but she was and would always be a murderer. A killer. A devil. Isaac knew the horrific crimes she had committed against her parents, but he never asked her if she was sorry for them. If she wished she hadn't killed them, her 2 stepfathers included. If he had, her answer would have been an emphatic NO. She did not regret anything she had done in her life, especially the murders. She'd do them all again in a heartbeat if given the chance.

And so, she was left alone with her thoughts. She did her best to drown them out with glass after glass of her favorite beverage, but this time the alcohol only brought to the forefront painful memories of her childhood. Against her better judgment, she let the memories resurface and replay themselves in her mind.

Her earliest memory, or rather the feelings surrounding that memory, was of loneliness. Of feeling unwanted by her parents. Not feeling good enough. Feeling ordinary, not special. She would sit for hours alone in her room surrounded by her playthings, with only her thoughts to keep her company. She remembers taking her dolls and pulling their arms and legs off, just for fun. Her nanny had been shocked and immediately showed her mother what she had done. Mother had punished her by taking all of her playthings away and was left alone with nothing but books to keep her occupied.

She remembers her five-year old self snooping through her nanny's things and finding a pocket knife. She thought it was one of the most amazing things she'd ever seen, so she took it and hid it in her dress pocket. A few days later she was playing outside and came across a rabbit. She caught it and proceeded to use her stolen knife to kill it and cut it open so she could see its insides. She remembers the sight and the smell of the blood, and feeling happy for the first time in her life. Later that afternoon, her nanny found her there, covered in blood, surrounded by the cut up rabbit. Her parents had been furious and horrified. After promptly firing the nanny, her mother had taken her upstairs and had used a switch on her backside so many times that she was unable to sit down or walk normally for a week. She hadn't minded the physical punishment, as she felt it was worth it to have experienced the incredible sensation of ending a life.

She remembers when she was six and her parents had taken her with them on holiday. The friends they were visiting had 2 children of their own for her to play with, a boy of four and a girl of seven. The three of them were playing some stupid game that wasn't important when suddenly the girl pushed her down. She was furious and all she remembers feeling was pure rage and hatred. She got up and viciously pushed the girl to the ground and proceeded to punch and scratch as hard as she could. The boy came over and tried to get her to stop, but she just turned her anger onto him and proceeded to claw his face and rip his hair out by the roots. When the two sets of parents heard the screaming they came running outside to find a brutal, bloody scene. All three children were bruised, screaming, and covered in blood. Her father had ripped her off from atop the boy and slapped her viciously across the face. She immediately stood still after this, and went into an almost trance-like state. The adults then ushered all three children inside to be cleaned up while awaiting the doctor to arrive. Her parents were mortified by her actions, and proceeded to tell her so. She didn't care. She hated them. She hated those other children. She hated their parents. All she cared about was seeing their blood on her hands. The feel of it. The smell of it.

After the doctor left, her parents had been firmly told to leave their home and not to ever return with their "devil-child." Upon returning home, her parents decided it was best to keep her in her room for the time being, away from others. They knew she was violent and troubled, but had no idea what to do with her. So there she stayed, alone with her books, drawing paper, and what few playthings remained.

A few weeks later, when she was at her lessons, her mother found a stack of drawings she had made during her room confinement. They were shocking. Bloody and violent. People and animals cut up and torn apart, blood everywhere, with a happy faced sun in the top corner. Her mother was hysterical and as soon as she had come home from her lessons, her mother cornered her and shook her, screaming "What is wrong with you?! Why do you draw these things?! You are a sick, demented devil-child! I'm ashamed to have given birth to you!" She remembers feeling no emotion by this, and just shrugged her shoulders as if to say, _"I don't know, and I don't care."_ Then back to her room she went.

At the age of eight, her parents decided that maybe she just needed a friend, a constant companion who would always be with her to provide love and comfort. Something she could take care of and love in return. To possibly bring her out of whatever madness had enthralled her. So one afternoon her father brought home a puppy just for her. Her parents told her that the puppy was hers and that she could name it whatever she wanted. That this was her new friend and she could help train it and take care of it. That in return the puppy would love her unconditionally and would never harm her. She had looked at the black & white spotted puppy and wondered what she was going to do with it. She didn't want it, but since her parents seemed to want her to have it, she played along and took the puppy upstairs. After a little while, she got bored with it and left it alone on the floor while she sat on her bed to finish her book. When she looked down a few minutes later, she noticed the puppy had one of her toys in it's mouth and was chewing on it. This enraged her, as that was HER toy and she did not give permission for this animal to have it. She went downstairs and silently went into the kitchen and took a knife from the pantry. Back upstairs in her room, she grabbed the puppy, sat on the floor, and proceeded to do what she did best. After she was done, and the bloodlust had abated, she removed her clothes and cleaned herself off. She bundled up the bloody mess she had made and shoved it under her bed. It was then time for dinner.

That evening, her parents went up to her room to see if she had let the puppy outside. It had been several hours and they had yet to see the puppy eat or go outside. Upon finding the room empty, with no sign of the puppy anywhere, they proceeded to search the room. Her father looked under the bed and pulled out the bundle of bloody clothes. When he unwrapped them, her mother screamed and her father bellowed loudly. Upon entering her room, she was beaten within an inch of her life, or so it seemed at the time. Her mother was crying hysterically, not knowing what else to do with her troubled, disturbed child. She kept asking her why she did it? How could she do it? Didn't she feel badly? Feel sad? She answered honestly, "No, Mummy. I don't feel bad, or sad. Why should I?" And that was the truth. She knew she should be feeling something, anything, but she just….didn't. She never had. She saw others expressing different emotions in different situations, but she truly did not have any concept of what that was like. She felt…..nothing. She knew then that she was different from other people. Ordinary, no. Unique, yes. She was glad and wouldn't have it any other way.

A couple of months later, after a particularly bad day, she had snuck a knife from the kitchen in the middle of the night and went upstairs to stand by her parents bed. She stood and stared at them, imagining their blood covering the bed. Her mother woke up and found her staring at them at the foot of the bed with the knife in her hands. That's when it finally became clear to her that her daughter was homicidal. She was terrified of her and she vowed to protect herself from her only child. The next day, she went to visit an old friend from her dog training days.

Her mother came home with two trained adult Dalmatian dogs that she acquired from a breeder. They knew all sorts of commands but most of all they were trained in protection. Now her mother felt safer and they were always at her side. Her father whole-heartedly agreed that the dogs were needed, as there was no telling what their child would do next. They were there to protect them from their own daughter.

But by the age of 9, who would protect her from her father's evil? Her father's sick perversion? Answer: no one. Certainly not her mother, nor those 2 stupid dogs. He hurt her. He made her feel helpless, powerless, and weak. She hated those feelings, and swore that one day she would rise up and take control. Her mother knew what was happening. What he was doing. As a wife and mother, how could she not? The nights when he would get up and leave the bed for an hour at a time, sometimes longer. Late one night mother had seen him getting out of her bed, adjusting his pajamas to cover himself. Mother had looked at him with disgust and anger, and then looked at her the same way. She locked eyes with her mother and her eyes were begging her to make it stop. To do something. To save her. Use those wretched dogs on him if she must. But make him stop. Instead she turned around, left the room and went back to bed. Nothing was ever spoken of it. She decided at that moment to take control of her own life and stop her father from hurting her anymore. She waited for the perfect, opportune moment. And within just a few months, the opportunity revealed itself.

Soon after she turned 10 years old, her father was sitting in the parlor reading his newspaper. Mother was in the other room doing something or other with those beloved dogs of hers and she was at the writing desk working on her lessons when her father told her to go make him some tea. She looked at him, paused a moment, and replied "Yes, father." She quickly ran upstairs and retrieved one of the trumpet flowers that were in a vase at her bedside. She took it down into the kitchen, put water in the kettle, and proceeded to crush one of the flower petals into the cup. She then added the tea and water, 1 sugar cube, 1 bit of milk, and stirred. She proudly brought the cup to her father and went back to the writing desk to await the result of her handiwork. Within a few minutes, she noticed her father becoming ill and as he got up out of the chair to leave the room, he collapsed and fell backwards. She immediately stood up and stared at her father's lifeless body. Her mother had heard the loud thump and rushed into the room. Seeing her husband lifeless on the floor, she screamed and ran to the telephone to call for the doctor. While waiting for him to arrive, she noticed her daughter standing by her father's body, seemingly paralyzed with shock. She ushered her upstairs to her room and told her she would return as soon as the doctor left. After her mother had left the room, she remembers sitting on her bed and thinking that poisoning is a much cleaner way of killing than using a knife. Less messy. Less to clean up. She had come up with the idea of poisoning when she had come across a book about flowers in the family library. While reading about her favorite trumpet flowers that grew in the garden, she found out that they were also highly poisonous when ingested. That's when she made the decision to kill her father and end his perverse torment of her. Her mother had returned to check on her some time later, no doubt expecting to see her crying from watching her father die, but instead she found her sitting on the bed with a slight smile on her face. She was so happy her plan succeeded that she couldn't contain what little happiness she did feel. Shocked and sickened, she stared at her daughter as if she were an inhuman monster. She looked over at the bedside table and saw a bouquet of trumpet flowers arranged in a vase. Her mother knew right then that her daughter had killed her father.

Her mother had had enough. She yelled and screamed at her daughter, calling her all sorts of horrible names. Not understanding, wanting to know why she was like this, what she did to deserve such a wretched child? She had looked at her mother with emotionless eyes as she stood up from the bed. Her mother immediately called for the dogs and in that instant she ran out of the room, down the stairs, into the yard, and finally into the woods. She ran for her life. She ran for her freedom. She ran from the mother that hated her. She ran to the darkness, wanting to immerse herself in it. However, she was not fast enough. Those horrid dogs caught up to her and made sure she couldn't go any further without them attacking her. She hated them. She feared them. She was still little and she knew they could kill her if her mother so ordered it. Someday she would kill them too. But now was not that day. Soon her mother drove up to where she was being cornered and stubbornly brought her back home. She did not go back to her room, however. Her mother decided to take her up to the attic and lock her in. She told her that the attic room is to be her world now, and that she better get used to it. It was either the attic or she would be shipped off to the insane asylum, where she would be locked up in a padded room for the rest of her life. She had looked at her mother with shock and disbelief, asking her if she was just going to lock her up there forever like one of her dogs? Her mother had spat back at her "Until you learn to do as I say!" and then locked the door behind her as she slammed it shut.

True to her word, mother had kept her in that attic for the next 15 years. Over that time her mother had gotten married again, not just once but twice. Each time one of her stepfather's started looking at her with lust in their eyes, she made the decision to stop them before it started all over again. She would be no man's plaything to hurt and torment. She may have spent her adolescent and teenage years locked in an attic with nothing but books and motion picture magazines to keep her company, but she still had memorized all those wonderful poisons she had read about. And so, she had killed each of her wretched stepfather's when the opportunity presented itself. Her mother was a sad, heartbroken woman the night Isaac had knocked on her door. But for herself, seeing him presented the answer to all of her unholy prayers. She was going to do whatever she had to do to get out of that attic, and pretending to care for this newspaper man was just the ticket she needed. But like all things in life, nothing ever goes exactly as planned. She certainly had not foreseen him being a magical author who uses a magic pen & ink to make anything possible. When he had shown her that wondrous magic, she knew she had found her total freedom at last. First thing, kill her mother and those wretched dogs. She wanted to see their blood pour out of their bodies as she plunged a knife into them over and over again. After that, well, she could just write anything she wanted; go anywhere she wanted. She would never let anyone have any power over her ever again. She could now immerse herself in the darkness and revel in it to her heart's content.

But the one thing she hadn't counted on, and honestly had never thought of or even considered, was her caring for and later falling in love with that magical author. After that fateful night when she was accidentally doused in magical ink and her madness had overtaken her, the only thought that consumed her mind was her overwhelming desire to kill Isaac. When he deliberately took away the one thing she loved more than anything, her ability to kill, she knew then that she would stop at nothing to get her revenge. She would do whatever she needed to do to make sure she ended his miserable life. That is until she saw him again all those years later in Gold's cabin. Oh she still wanted him dead, but she was also secretly thrilled to lay eyes on him again. He looked almost exactly the same as she remembered him, whereas she probably looked like a monster compared to the "angel" he fell in love with at the Murray's Club. She tried all the tricks she had in her arsenal to get him to give her back that which he took from her—politely asking him; threatening him; seducing him; none of them worked. He knew her tactics too well. But she also saw his feelings for her laid bare on his face and in his eyes when he looked at her. He still loved her, that was plain to see. But being who she was, well, it just wasn't in her nature to notice or care. And so, she threatened him again and stormed out of the cabin.

The next time she saw him was when she awoke in her bed at Granny's. The last thing she remembered was being shoved off an embankment by the savior and falling to her certain death. But it was not to be, as the magic ink still flowing in her veins prevented her from dying, at least on that day. She was bruised, and most of her body ached, but she was alive and would thankfully be alright. Isaac's face was the first she saw and inside she was secretly happy to see him. His face showed nothing but love and concern for her, even after everything she had done. She was astounded at his deep feelings for her, and she honestly didn't know how to deal with them. When he asked her on a date, technically their "2nd date", she accepted, and was curious to see how it would go and if he would still want to be with her when he realized she was no angel. She was the devil. She always had been and always would be. After that magical night, each of them knew that any feud they may have had was over forever. She gave herself to him and his love, and in return he accepted her for who she was and loved her anyway. She married him and bore him two beautiful children. They were normal. They were happy. SHE was happy.

Cruella put her glass down on the coffee table as she heard the front door open. Isaac walked in and shut the door and stood staring at her. Finally she got up off the couch and started to move towards him. He put his hands up and said "I don't want to fight with you. And I don't want us to go to bed angry at one another. I'm sorry for what happened. Please, Cru, let's just have a truce and we can talk about this tomorrow." Cruella kept moving towards him until she stood directly in front of him, staring into his eyes. After a few moments, she replied "Oh darling, what have you done to me...? I'm the devil. I'm a killer, a monster, a murderer. How can you live with me? How can you love me? I don't understand!" she cried. He stared into her eyes while a gentle, loving smile took over his face. "Because I love you. We can't help who we fall in love with. I've loved you since the first moment I laid eyes on you at that attic window. And I've never stopped loving you. You may be the devil, you may be a terrible person, but I fell in love with all of you, the bad and the good. And there is good in you, Cru, you know there is. We've all seen it. You're a wonderful mother to our kids and the best partner I could ever have hoped for. You are selfish, cruel, psychopathic, but you're also loving and kind when you want to be, especially with us. And I wouldn't have you any other way." She looked at him with eyes full of shocked wonder, and before he could get any more words out she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the passion and love that she could bring forth. While he knew she would never say that she was sorry, or say the words I Love You, he knew her better than anyone and he knew this was her way of showing him what her voice could never say— _I'm Sorry, I Love You Too, Thank You for loving the Devil._


End file.
